Thirteen years ago today I was deep in back labor trying to push free my firstborn child under the watch of a bitchy nurse (who was pregnant with her first child and from rumors in the maternity ward, got all the payback she deserved for her harsh treatment of patients).   I've broken bones, had knee surgery, been concussed, sprained, strained, bruised and dumped.  Nothing, NOTHING hurt as much as giving birth to Mr. T.

After 16 hours of agony and some expert suctioning by the doctor, we discovered our first son was a BOY baby.  A perfect boy baby with all his fingers and toes and prolific amounts of hair that continued to grow thick and full of body.  (Honest to God, you'd think he was a star for Prell Shampoo, but even today the kid soaps it down with a bar of Ivory.)  We looked at him in awe for a little while after the nurses cleaned him up and passed him over, all swaddled in a blanket.  We had another name picked out--we wanted to name him Broderick, but after testing it on him, he ignored us.  Then we tried a different name and he turned the full force of his blue eyes in our direction.  In that sense, Mr. T chose his name.

He's celebrating today (a day crammed with school, homework baseball and soccer) with toaster pastries, his first cup of coffee (hated it) and a frozen TV dinner (his choice of birthday dinner) and tomorrow with a scavenger hunt for his presents.  I swore I wouldn't let the entire cafeteria sing to him at lunchtime (a sweet tradition at PS that he loathes) and IF things get rained out later (fingers crossed) I'll let him play Minecraft until bedtime.  We'll laud him properly this weekend with dinner at Red Lobster and a birthday cake.

Officially a teenager, Mr. T is really a peach of a kid.  Happy 13th, son.  Here are just 13 reasons why I love you:

You're polite, always remembering your manners and demonstrating respect to other people, even when you don't like them very much.

You love music and have an amazing capacity to memorize song lyrics.  Plus you sing along enthusiastically, which is pretty great even if I don't like your choice of radio station.

You ask thoughtful questions--about anything.  Lately you've asked a lot of questions about the politics in Wisconsin, curious about the ads and signs you're seeing and the stuff in the newspaper.  It's a point of pride for me to have a son who asks questions about stuff like politics and religion--heck, you've even asked me to explain the stock market.

You quit, but then you start over again.  I get it--it's been tough getting through the seizure meds and navigating school with a dyslexic brain.  But you're still hacking away at it, learning how to work hard and reap the benefits of persistence.

You are responsible.  As the oldest kid in our tribe, that really means a lot.

You show passion.  I'm so glad you're not one of the cool kids, keeping your emotions always under wraps and making everyone guess where you're at.  If you're happy, we know it.  Ditto for mad, sad, lonely, tired and any other feeling you get.  People love this about you--like when you'd get on base in softball and do that fist pump--it's people like you who rev the rest of us up.

You are creative.  Whether designing a comic book superhero or coming up with rules to play zombie kickball in the pool, you think outside the box.  I know not everyone values thinking outside the box, but trust me,  this will work to your advantage in the long haul.

You are strong.  You don't fully believe this about yourself yet because you're on the short end of your class (and all the girls in your class have sprouted up, messing with the natural order of things), but you can do twice the sit-ups and push-ups of most kids your age.  You can run quite well.  God has blessed you with a very healthy body.  (And you will get taller.  I promise.)

You can talk to anyone.  Our little neighbor girl.  One of your dad's co-workers.  Teenagers and senior citizens.  You handle social situations extremely well.

You try new things.  Food, games, experiences--you are pretty fearless.  (You totally get this from your dad.)

You read.  For fun.  I'm so glad to have a reader for a son.

You forgive.  The world is full of younger brothers knuckleheads and you always find it in your heart to accept apology and move on.  I've seen you do it with your brothers, your classmates and your parents.  You've nailed this biblical principal and I'm so thankful you get it.

You've got faith.  And even while you're digging into it and questioning parts of it, your faith is growing and I'm confident that God has enormous plans for someone like you.  He has thrown you struggles to build you up for a reason.  We both believe this.

Many happy returns of the day, Mr. T.  I went in your room after you fell asleep last night to say goodbye to a 12-year old because in my mind 13 is a whole new chapter.  I realized your shin is longer than your entire body was the day you were born.  Then I got all verklempt and had to hustle back downstairs and eat ice cream. 
And I felt darn grateful to have you as my firstborn.  You are a gift.

magnificent

First, thanks for the encouraging words about living with teenagers.  As I recall, I was a miserable, horrible, wretched morsel of humanity from age 12-20.  Yet when I taught high school, I really enjoyed working with kids that age.  And I still enjoy a lot of teenaged folk, particularly the ball-playing types that Mr. D hires to do all the heavy lifting for me during the summer months.  From my experience being the parent of a teenager seems less gratifying than working with a teenager.  But you've assured me otherwise, so I'm hopeful. 

On to magnificent.  No, I'm not talking Donald Driver here.  I'm referring to Mr. B's BIG PLANS FOR SUMMER VACATION.  He wants to use this as his playbook:
 

Phenomenal, no?  A kid who dreams of building a go-kart, mastering 8 kinds of knots, installing a pulley system in his bedroom and playing with electricity instead of lounging in front of a video game all summer.  It's like his bible these days, he pores over the pages and is constantly coming up to us excited about something new he's learned. There's a reason I'm particularly fond of that kid. 

true

*  I'll have a teenager by the end of the week.  Good grief.
*  Mr. G told me the other day he knows where he wants to go for his birthday dinner.  (this kid plans ahead for his birthday all year)  He wants to go to Golden Corral.  He saw the ad on TV and is all jazzed up for the chocolate fountain and strawberries.  So it'll be me, 3 kids and a few busloads of senior citizens en route to the casino at Golden Corral come July...
*  SO irritated by our pool.  Total first world problem that I'm almost embarrassed to have.
*  Our evening schedule is imploding all week with games, practices and other fun stuff.  I'm beginning to think I need a hired driver instead of a hired cook.
*  Trying to kill weeds with vinegar--suspect I have a super-genetically-altered breed of weeds growing in my garden...
*  Of course when I'm in the throes of spring chores and editing manuscripts for my writing group I'm getting the best ideas for my own work.  I should be writing this stuff down, right? 
*  We have a baby oak growing in one of our gardens--where is it from?  Obviously I know the answer, but how did an acorn get beneath a pine tree?  I never, ever see squirrels around here...
*  I found a pair of high heeled sandals and I cannot find them online so I'll take a photo of them tomorrow because now I have to go to Farm Services to sign off on our annual Crop Report.

Spill it, reader.  Do you have a teenager?  Is it great?

in the corners

It's amusing to look in the corners at my house.  Team Testosterone leaves a trail of their life all over the place.  Behold:

A Lego space ship near the Sunday comics--suddenly reading the Sunday comics is as trendy as cherry bomb kickball at Chez Green Girl.




 

let's dance

One of the stars on my ipod shuffle died yesterday.  I've confessed before to having a weird running soundtrack that meshes alternative/punk with disco, but truth be told, I almost exclusively run to disco music.  Here's why:  you cannot listen to disco and be sad.  Since running does not make me happy, adding that bouncy, sexy groove in my ears makes it much, much better.  (True story:  sometimes I'll even stop midstride and break into a diva dance move on the road if I'm sure no cars are coming and no one except Schuh's cows will see me.  In these moments I'm wearing a silky dress with a swirly skirt instead of a sweaty t-shirt and my hair is huge instead of damply clinging to my skull.  Yes, there is a disco ball illuminating me with glittery light.)

My favorite disco diva and I go way back.  When I was a kid, these albums were in my parents' collection:



 





Just those costumes she wore made her all that to a 10-year-old girl.  I mean, she was like a real-life Barbie doll.   Donna Summer was the predecessor to the Madonnas and Lady GaGas and all of their spin-offs. 
Whether listening to her on my parents' stereo or on the radio at the five and dime, I always pictured Donna Summer looking like this when she sang:



Look at that woman.  She kicked ass. 
Her songs make me think of summertime and heat.  Romance and sex.  Power and grace.  Strength and independence.  And roller skating for some reason.  RIP, Donna Summer.  And thanks for filling my ipod shuffle with awesomeness.

summertime and a gidget dress

Remember this dress?  My coveted Gidget dress arrived yesterday and I loveitloveitloveit.  It's the perfect length and fits perfectly.

And my gardener's tan looks good with these colors.  Now there's the small matter of footwear ...  It's tough to find cute sandals when you have wide feet.  I'm usually stuck sporting Jesus sneakers like Birkenstocks.  (No, I do not wear them with socks.)  Our oldest of a dozen nieces and nephews has a graduation party this weekend so I am inspired to brush the dirt off my knees and palms and head to Joseph's Shoes.  And if I'm out shopping, there's a kid who needs baseball pants and another kid who needs a birthday gift and a dishwasher that needs detergent. 

We're chomping at the bit for school to wrap up for summer vacation.  Because I'm a list-y kind of gal, we will make a Summer 2012 Bucket List.  Mr. B has recommended a trip to Whitefish Dunes--I'll be curious to see how their list will change as the boys are older.  I'm hopeful that Chuck E Cheese won't make the cut.  We're old enough to venture further--maybe a road trip to Chicago?  Or Lake Superior?  And of course we'll have pool parties, bonfires and camp-outs on that bucket list--and some Mom-Approved activities like summer reading.

Spill it, reader.  What's on your Summer 2012 Bucket List?

you dig?

I do.  I spent most of Sunday and yesterday digging in the dirt and I'm going to dig again today.  Last winter I scored a little greenhouse and I started a bunch of seeds I saved from last year's pumpkins, gourds, beans and peppers.   Everything sprouted, which is about the most exciting thing about planting a seed, and because I was SUPER enthusiastic about saving seeds and starting them, I'm drowning in pumpkins and gourds.  (If you're local and want some, let me know.  And HistoryGirl, you too!)  I've never had any luck planting watermelon seeds, but I started some in the greenhouse. I've got high hopes for my watermelon seedlings.

The big bed is tucked in for the season.  It's full of zucchini, gourds, pumpkins, sunflowers, tomatoes and the marigold Mr. T grew for a science project.  The strawberry bed looks promising (finally) and the asparagus is taking root in its second year.  We've enjoyed volunteer lettuce all spring and I've got cilantro coming up nicely by the strawberries.   I'm trugging around seed packets and trowel, transplanting something here, moving something there.  I could spend hours dawdling outside, attacking weeds, watering flowers, deadheading and picking.  Unfortunately, the gardener's busiest time of the year butts up against baseball's busiest time of year so I'm running from dawn until dusk. 


Mr. G really wants to help plant, so I'm holding off on beans and peas and the rest of the sunflowers until he has free time.   But the tiny seeds, like beets and spinach, I'll plant myself.

Sunday, after a fair amount of earth-moving, I treated myself to one of these:


It was fruity and a bit tart, a good summer beer by New Belgium Brewing.  Plus the label couldn't be cuter.  You know what it tasted like?  Another.

Spill it, reader.  You dig?